2013.09.26 - Timetych 3: Something Like Fate
LEGION ROLL CALL: Kid Quantum II GUEST-STARRING: Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld; (emits courtesy Cos) Mordru, Lori Morning, Jared Stevens WHERE: NYC, 1939 WHAT: Confusion abounds! Menace flashes and lingers! MYSTERY THICKENS! And a Princess, a Legionnaire, and a little girl go hunting a ride home. NOW: For Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld? As soon as she's shoved Imra out of Chaos, that grey-wrapped hand catches at her hair from behind her, and everything goes white, and then there's nothing but darkness and sound and sensation. Cold metal encircles her wrists, her ankles, encases her hands. "I knew you couldn't leave well enough alone," comes an eminently familiar, depthlessly arrogant voice, familiar like old memories of love and pain and ice-slick betrayal. "And you should have known better. I didn't," the voice says, as the blinding light's afterimage fades and details begin to resolve-- stereotypical dungeon, tall white-haired man in Warlord of Mars style clothing with hideously familiar markings on his face and arms and chest, flickering firelight on the walls, "know where you were. Until now. Did you not know the Legion are ever but pawns?" He steps closer, then, and lifts a hand to touch Amy's face, run callused fingers through her hair away from her temple. "Perhaps you did know better, Amaya. Perhaps you sought me. Is this so?" His eyes are visible now, aeons of wrath behind them. Known and alien, all at once. Possessive. "Did you involve yourself in order to come to me, as is right and proper?" This is not the first time Amethyst has been taken to a strange place by consuming lights. It will not be the last. She is limp as she hangs from the wall by her chains. All the strength had flooded out of her, true, but she is also limp because she is being taken somewhere and doesn't want to unnecessarily injure herself in the going. It is not a comfortable position. Amethyst is tougher than she looks. The shackles do not strain her overmuch. The princess looks up at the noise, her lips pressed thin and brow furrowed with determination. She stares at the white-haired man with little comprehension. When he touches her face, she is a statue. "I don't know who you are, so I really doubt I'm here on purpose." Her mist silk ribbon lashes out, snakelike, snapping at the man's hand. Amethyst narrows her eyes. "You know my name. What's so right and proper about this whole dungeon deal?" TWO DAYS AGO: In the hallway, Jaz /had/ been about to go into her room-- but then down the hall, a flash of rainbow light and a sound that distinctly resembles 'FRINK', and abruptly Lori Morning's pelting toward the Legion Leader like hell's on her sneaker-shod heels, face a mask of terror. "JAZMIN, JAZMIN! HELP!" Even as Kid Quantum lifts a hand, face starting to change, the pre-teen girl impacts with her-- --and everything goes blinding white for a second, though Jaz can feel the little girl clinging to her like a baby monkey, shuddering and trying desperately not to cry. NOW, BUT IN 1939: Lori's still sulking: she hates dresses, she's always hated dresses. But now she also hates mary janes and stockings and sweaters and peter pan collars and rain and old movies and actually probably /everything ever/. She sits in a miserable funk on the ledge next to Jazmin, grimacing. "I didn't /do/ it. And I can /so/ help beat up jerks. I've done it before! I even saved Legion HQ while you guys were off fighting Mordru! I don't know why it's such a big stupid deal. You have time powers /anyway/, why are we even still *here*?" It's now, no matter what year it is, in subjective terms. A day ago it was 2372. The day before that it wasn't even Earth. Across from Lori and Jaz's location, there's a shop front with shady guys talking in low voices in front of it; in the window there's a sign for the German American Bund. Truth be told, Jazmin's not overly fond of dresses herself, at least not the dresses from /this/ era, and she's stunningly not fond of the blatent comments directed her way whenever anyone sees the pair of them together and assumptions that she's the help. "I have time powers, sure, but I dont have time /travel/ powers. At least not yet, and whining isn't going to make me develop them any faster." Jazmin points out as she absently watches the shady guys outside the shop. "Besides, it's not like we're bouncing around with purpose, at least not with any sort of pattern as best as I can tell." NOW, 1939: "Stupid time travelling jerkfaced villain jerks," scowls Lori, slouching down and kicking her heels against the wall. She glances over her shoulder. "How do you know it's not with purpose? And do you think we're even -- I mean -- that /letter/ you left. I saw Back to the Future, /too/, y'know. Do you really think Cos is gonna get it? I mean, that Namor guy, I've never even /heard/ of him, are we even in the right-- whatever?" With that, she's looking back at Jazmin, the scowl having turned into what's behind it: worry. Upset. Worry. NOW, CHAOS: "--ah," says the old man, his eyes suddenly sparkling as he draws his hand back. "You are young. Time has yet to temper you. Do you yet--" His eyes are glowing. That's generally never a good sign. His hands lift, rings on his fingers and bracers on his forearms, gold and bestudded and glittering with gems. "You do not hold the essence. Small girl, child of Order, you are small." And then with a one-eighty of frustrated rage, he raises one hand further and brings it violently toward Amy's face. "So you shall be thrown BACK until you are WORTHY!" There's no physical slap. Everything is white again, and there's no cold metal touching Amaya, only light-- --and then a hard surface beneath her, a floor. Linoleum. Dimly, the sound of traffic in the background, though not overwhelming. A radio, tuned to, what, an oldies station? Nighttime NPR? Frank Sinatra, anyway. JUST NOW, PERIOD: There's. Someone on the floor behind Jazmin. Lori's eyes are wide. "Who are /you/?" the little blond girl asks Amy. "There was no frink. Jaz, there was no /frink/. She's in NORMAL clothes." "Wait.. what letter? I left a letter?" Jazmin blinks at Lori, her expression puzzled until there's the distraction of the arrival of Amaya. She turns at Lori's wide eyed gaping and considers the 'normal' woman who has joined them. "Well. I cannot say that you were exactly who I was expecting to land here with us." She pushes herself to her feet, brushing absently at her skirt that lets her tokenly 'pass' in this era and offers Amara a hand. "Welcome to the nightmare." "SCREW YOU, DUDE--" Amethyst is backhanded through the wall. No, not quite. There is no wall. She's just falling, and now there's another floor beneath her. The princess gasps for air, staring up at the ceiling. "I, um, what?" Still sprawled on the ground, the princess lifts her head to stare down the length of her gem-studded breastplate at her new cellmates. "Uh. Jazmin?" She takes the other girl's hand, tentatively at first and then grasping firmly. The last two hands that touched her sent her on a pretty wild ride. She gets to her feet. Her clothes don't need brushing off. Magic. "What kind of nightmare? Some old guy was just yelling at me." "Some old guy?" Jazmin asks with a quirk of her brow and gestures around the area. "Nightmare of early-ish twentith century, which is apparently a cesspit of racism and misogynists, but they do make a fairly good cup of coffee. Do you know Lori?" She indicates the pre-teen who is sulking nearby. "What old guy?" the little girl asks with worry. Or interest. Or both. She slides off the ledge and picks her way across the linoleum, sticking her hand out (and up) to Amy, trying desperately to act like an adult. "Lori Morning," she fills in. "It wasn't my fault," she adds. "He didn't give me his name," Amethyst says, rubbing her eyes. She considers the situation, absently shaking Lori's hand. "I'm Princess Amethyst, sup." The princess exhales, turning her head to give Jazmin a proper look over. Yikes. One period costume is enough. "Do you know what year it is? Uh. I'm pretty sure Doctor Fate is hanging out at this point. That's a way out." The unspoken addition is: she doesn't have one, personally. "What? No name tags? Damn old guys need to step up their games. What'd he look like? What was he yelling? If you ended up shoved in here.. could be relevant." Jazmin paces a little, her shoes clicking on the linoleum. "1939 according to the newspaper that was actually /paper/." She sounds as if that's the most unusual thing she's met so far. She turns back towards Amethyst and quirks her head. "Wait.. who is Doctor Fate?" Amethyst crosses her arms, staying firmly planted in contrast to Jazmin's nervous energy. "Doctor Fate is a guy who keeps the universe balanced. Magic stuff. He can do time travel, I bet, and he likes me. We're, uh, in the same club. He'd be in the Justice Society of America right now." As for the other question, the princess gets a far-away look in her eyes. "Um. Tall, white hair, muscular, no shirt, tattoos that may have been Nilaian--from Gemworld--and he knew me. Kept talking about me seeking him out, and then he said something about how I didn't have 'the essence' yet, and I wasn't worthy yet." "Also, he slapped me here, like, literally slapped me." The second answer gives Jazmin pause in her movement, turning towards Amethyst and muttering under her breath something that sounds distinctly like swearing if one speaks Interlac. "Oh /goodie/, Mordru just can't help being a dick about it. Spectacular." She frowns, the desire for movement not entirely one of nerves, there's no sense of fear in her, but plenty of irritation. Amethyst does not speak Interlac. Interlac speaks Amethyst, thanks to magic, so she understands all the same. "Wait, that was Mordru?" The princess steps forward and grabs Jazmin's hand with both of her own. "Mordru, the guy who was basically described to me as Future Voldemort to the Legion's collective Harry Potter? Why does that Mordru know me?" Lori's basically just been lost in a fannish haze of A REAL PRINCESS THAT'S NOT ALSO A SNAKE for the last moment or so; abruptly she snaps out of it, eyes focusing on Jazmin suddenly. "Mordru?" Her voice turns into a squeak and she looks up at Amy again, this time with rather a lot more of the whites of her eyes showing. "Oh no. Not everyone came back. From that. Not--" And then she claps her hands over her mouth, then hops and reaches up to move one from her mouth to Amy's. VERY wide eyes. "Maybe," she says, muffled, "we should stop saying his name?" "I haven't read those yet.. on the list, but then elections and then .. yeah. Haven't read them yet." Jazmin admits with a twist of her lips. "Yeah.. yeah that was him. And I'd normally say 'I dont think it works that way', but hey, I dont know how the sprok he works most of the time, so I'm willing to indulge the superstition." She glances to Lori and quirks a brow. "You remember that? You.. alright then. No, not everyone came back. Some of us got chucked into the 21st century from our perspectives. Oh timelines, you are wily minxes, all of you." Amethyst stands there, Jazmin's hand in hers and Lori's hand on her mouth. She releases Jaz and straightens to shirk Lori's censorship. "Whatever." The princess touches the gemstone on her breastplate. She floats a few inches into the air, engulfed in purple-white light, and then lands once again in different clothes. Gothier clothes. It did her makeup, too. And her hair. "What have you guys been doing? Do you have any plan? Because I've got a good feeling about this Doctor Fate thing. I know his real name and everything." "Yeah, that will fit /right/ in." Jazmin quips almost absently as she watches Amethyst change to Goth-Amethyst and then gestures. "We havent' been here all that long, truthfully. Long enough to do some basic recon, I can manipulate time energy, but not quite to the point of time travel. At least not yet." She gestures vaguely. "REal name should help. Him being in this timeline would /really/ help too. Searching further afield than local is nigh on impossible. This is a hellishly primitive time for technology." "We've been-- getting bounced around. I thought you -left- a letter, I guess it was-- I guess-- I'm not sure *what's* going on..." Lori says, shrinking back a little, looking apologetic at Amy, then worried at Jazmin. "Is he even *here*? This Fate guy? I just --" She fiddles with her little satchel, starts to reach into it, pauses. "We should run. If we can get back before anyone else notices, that'd-- that'd be good." "Oh. Yeah." Amy taps her necklace, and another transformation sequence later, she's standing in a palette-swapped version of Jazmin's clothes. Plus the necklace. That stays. "I don't know why you guys are so freaked out." She points to herself with both thumbs. "Magical princess, right here. I can turn us invisible and we can fly out of here. In fact, I'm suggesting that, because I'm afraid to move in these heels." Jazmin quirks a brow at Amy and then chuckles. "If I currently qualify as 'freaked out', then I may need to ratchet down to 'comatose' to qualify as relaxed. I'm irritated, I had a coffee date, but not quite 'freaked out'." She turns then to Lori and gestures. "You, kiddo, are nicely working on freaked out. Especially on the running. Anyone else notices that we're here? Or that we're not other places.. and what's in the letter that clearly a future me leaves for you." She adds after a moment. "The heels aren't too bad, just lean more forward on the balls of your feet. Or fly. Flying helps. Alright, let's go find Doctor Fate." "... okay," says Lori, abruptly not meeting anyone's eyes. "I'll totally request lessons later," Amy promises with a wry grin. She wiggles her fingers, making the appropriate arcane signs. She is the first to float into the air, but soon Lori and Jazmin are buoyed up by an invisible force. "Sorry, I'm putting you two on autopilot. It's easier than casting flight spells you can control. Just trust me about the invisible part." And then they're gone, out into the breeze like wraiths in the sky. "Uh. You'll have to tell me where we are, by the way." "I can do flying, just not the invisible part." Jazmin notes as they take to the air and attempts not to ruin her mellow by having a control freak moment. "When was far easier. Where .. Earth, United States somewhere. The newspaper wasn't helpful to me, but my Earth geography isn't strong without a solid search engine to help me out." "Eep!" is the (predictable) sound Lori makes as her patent leather shoes lift off the linoleum; she hugs her satchel to her chest, looking down at the retreating floor. And then she scowls and sticks her chin out at Jazmin. "Anyway I'm not freaked out. I just *hate* time travel. I'm always afraid I'll get stuck back in TwenCen, and-- and it always goes so wrong, and... Princess Amy this is /really, really cool/!" she finally bursts out, distracted right away from encroaching panic. Nope! All fangirl again! They're in New York City, as it turns out-- and the phone directory most certainly has Kent Nelson's address. From where they find it, it's not at all a long journey: practically a hop, skip, and a jump by Invisible Purple Airlines, and they're in front of an adorable little suburban house with a white picket fence and a picnic table with an umbrella visible around the side, in back. As soon as Lori's on the ground, she rockets to the door and bangs on it. "HEY!" she yells, "WE WANNA GO HOME!" The door gets flung open a lot faster than she was expecting, clearly, since she backpedals in alarm, yelping. The problem is, the guy in the door's not Kent Nelson. It's a tall thin very white black-haired man, anhk tattooed down his face, piercings, sides of his head shaved and long tuft of bright red bangs, decked out like someone who can't decide between metal and punk. "WHAT." A pause, wherein he gives Jaz and Amy respective elevator stares. "Get in here. We should talk, yeah." Category:Log